


Rookies

by orphan_account



Category: due South
Genre: Community: ds_kinkmeme, M/M, One Night Stands, Secret Relationship, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to the "due South" Kink Meme prompt:</p><p>"Fraser/RayK - Ever since Ray accepted that it's over with Stella he's been acting like a complete slut. How does Fraser react?"</p><p>By taking a number and getting in line, as it turns out.</p><p>(The prompt so nice I <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/429983">filled it twice</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rookies

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged it "one night stands" but it's really _sequential _one night stands. If that makes sense.__

It is what it is. The first time he heard that phrase, Fraser had been stunned by the simplistic tautology. Had it not been used by a superior officer, he would have laughed in the man’s face. His own idealism has rarely allowed him to believe that anything could simply be what it is, that it could not be perfected or at least bettered.

For the most part, Fraser still believes that. Years of living in Chicago and having to confront ugly reality time and time again have not dimmed his essential optimism. Frequently, he and Ray Vecchio took situations about which so many would say “it is what it is” and made them better. 

The first time Fraser really found himself thinking, and believing, that something “is what it is” was when he returned to find Ray Vecchio displaced. He was not given any choice in the matter but to acquiesce, accept and even be complicit in the charade. It was what it was. Fraser chose to do his best, however, to make it something better, to embrace the new Ray just as the new Ray had embraced him.

It had been a good choice. Ray Kowalski can never replace Ray Vecchio, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to be Fraser’s friend because he actually likes Fraser, not simply as a placeholder to fool the world into thinking Ray Vecchio is exactly where he should be. He helped Fraser assist the Vecchios in the rebuilding and renovation effort because he likes the Vecchios, not because it was expected that he would. Nobody told him to use credit cards in Ray Vecchio’s name at hardware stores, and once the renovation was completed, he still takes Fraser to the Vecchios’ house for dinner at least once a month. Before dinner, Ma Vecchio sits down with Ray Vecchio’s credit card bill and Ray Kowalski joins her with a stack of twenty dollar bills, and they haggle over Ray Kowalski’s charges. Ray Kowalski always wants to pay the bill in full; Ma Vecchio always wants him to accept at least one dinner on her. 

Not long after the house on Octavia became habitable and the monthly ritual began, a few weeks after Fraser and Ray took down Alderman Orsini, Ma Vecchio greeted Ray with a large bill and a gleam in her eye. “I don’t know, Raimundo mio,” she said with a broad smile. “You’re giving my son quite the reputation around town. And with the credit card people.”

Fraser had been mystified as Ray pulled out an unusually large stack of currency. “Ma, I have been romancing some ladies,” he’d said. “And I figured that’s what your son would be doing if he were here, right?”

Ma looked at the charges. “Not his usual restaurants, although in his league, but definitely his usual florists,” she’d said. 

Kowalski shrugged. “Can’t fool a maître d’,” he’d pointed out. “And I’m still myself in some places. But flowers, those I can order over the phone.” Ray took a look at the bill, “See, here, here and here, those are mine.” He frowned. “But these three…I didn’t order those.”

“I’m using his card to order flowers in his name for the people he should be getting flowers for. Someone graduates, someone goes into the hospital, that kind of thing,” Ma Vecchio told him. “So I can look at my calendar and tell you which ones are actually my Ray’s flowers, but it might be confusing if we keep it up.”

Kowalski grinned and said, “Hey, if you want people thinking your own son don’t treat the ladies right….”

Ma Vecchio laughed. “I noticed that there were no charges on my son’s credit card for the flowers you sent me on my birthday,” she said.

“Those were from me,” Kowalski said, and kissed her hand.

Ma Vecchio put her other hand on her heart in a mock romantic gesture. “Just so,” she said. “You’ve proven my point for me.”

Fraser hadn’t really thought much of the whole exchange at the time, except vaguely approving of the way Kowalski was putting so much effort into being Ray Vecchio

From the start, as soon as he had proven conclusively that the man calling himself “Ray Vecchio” was manifestly, absolutely not Ray Vecchio, Fraser had found himself paradoxically drawn to Ray Kowalski. His looks, his charm, his easy grace…they were all the kinds of things that Fraser discovered he found attractive. He was on the right side of the law; he wasn’t mannered, deliberate, measuring each glance, each gesture or modulating each syllable. He was impulsive, not calculating, throwing himself into cases, into his pursuit of his ex-wife, beyond reason.

As Fraser learned more about him, reading his file, studying his methods, Fraser also learned other things, things he suspected Kowalski didn’t want him to know. Learned that in his last district, Kowalski had been considered to be…well, the term “slut” was used. That surprised Fraser, who by then had not only seen Kowalski’s ill-considered attempts to gain dates with women but also his fruitless mooning over Stella. But apparently, when Kowalski wasn’t being Vecchio, he didn’t care who knew that he had thrown himself into the single life with gusto and without caring what kind of partner he attracted. “He’s a carnival ride,” one woman at 29th district had told Fraser. “As long as you’re so tall,” she indicated a height of about five feet “and legal to drink booze, he’s good to go. Stop by Rookies and see it for yourself some time.”

So Fraser had gone to Rookies, a sports bar that attracted a large single clientele (and never once showed up on Ray Vecchio’s credit card), and seen it for himself. Kowalski had been moving through the room gracefully, dancing, talking, flirting and taking phone numbers. He’d left with a man in his late twenties before ten, not even seeing Fraser, who’d parked himself in a discreet corner with a bottle of IBC.

And Fraser found himself drawn to this Ray Kowalski. He wasn’t the Ray Fraser knew from police work, or from their growing friendship. This Ray could work a room, making everyone fall for him, just a little. Fall for him enough that they’d go home with him, but not so much that they would present Ray with social complications.

So Fraser had gone back to Rookies several times, and every night had watched Kowalski leaving with someone different (and a pocketful of numbers, some scribbled on cocktail napkins, some printed on heavy- stock business cards). Finally, Fraser had gathered the courage to slide next to where Kowalski was ordering a beer and checking out the score on the Hawks-Leafs game. Kowalski had given him a sidelong glance and not even blinked.

“Nice to see you here,” Kowalski said with a drawl. “You here for the same reason I am?”

Fraser nodded. Kowalski took a long drink from his beer. Fraser had been sure that getting Kowalski to take him home would be what was normally called a “tough sell,” but apparently this particular Ray Kowalski wasn’t a tough sell at all. He just gave Fraser a considering look and then nodded.

“Okay, sure,” Kowalski said with a shrug as he tossed back the last of his beer. “As long as you know the score.” Fraser figured he could probably have pressed the issue. He’d raised deliberate obtuseness to an art form. But he accepted Kowalski’s statement without asking for more, knowing how fragile the offer (the man) despite the outward bravado. He’d gone back to Kowalski’s apartment, no further words spoken until after Kowalski had guided him to his bed, pushed him back onto it with oddly gentle insistence.

Ray Kowalski in bed was a revelation. He was enthusiastic, generous, giving himself voice by showering Fraser with compliments both general (“God, you’re so hot”) and specific (“That crooked tooth…bet you’re real sensitive about that, but it’s pretty much the sexiest thing about your smile”). Kowalski never referred to any of the things Fraser considered admirable about himself when it came to his intelligence or his ability on the job they shared. That was a different Ray and Fraser, a different world, a world beyond the walls of Ray’s bedroom, a world neither wanted to acknowledge.

The Friday night after they’d resolved the Guy Rankin problem stands out in Fraser’s mind as a typical encounter between the two of them. It’s the fifth time, but it might as well be the first. Or, Fraser hopes, the tenth or the fiftieth. Somehow, over time, they’d negotiated their encounters without speaking more than a dozen words. Fraser knows to go to the same bar he went to the first time. He tries not to read too much into the fact that each time he’s been at the bar, Ray has been there, too. Fraser only goes once every week or so; he has no idea how often Ray winds up there. Fraser does know that on the nights he goes there, Ray sits at the bar, nursing a beer, his air that of a man who just wants to enjoy his drink. Not like the first time Fraser had spied on him; neither moving through the bar, nor facing outward, elbows resting on the bar, with a look that’s part challenge, part invitation. And when Fraser shows up, Ray tosses money on the bar before Fraser even orders and they go back to Ray’s apartment.

And the silence is only broken once they’re in Ray’s apartment. All the way in, as Fraser has come to think of it: in Ray’s bedroom. Ray’s living room is where they watch games and his kitchen is where they sometimes cook or bicker about takeout. They’re only ever in Ray’s bedroom for this, and only after they’ve met at Rookies.

Ray doesn’t hold back, in his bedroom. He kisses Fraser enthusiastically, sometimes gently, sometimes aggressively, sometimes with urgency, sometimes with finesse. Fraser responds wholeheartedly to whatever cue he’s given. He bites Ray, sometimes. The first time he did it was their first night together. They were lying on their sides, facing each other, Ray’s hand on Fraser’s erection. They’d been kissing, wet, sloppy, open-mouthed and perfect. Ray had tipped his head back, removing his mouth from Fraser's, saying, nearly shouting, “God, oh God, _yes _,” to the ceiling. Fraser wanted to say, just as loudly, “I love you,” but at the last minute he’d found some sanity, some strength, and instead leaned forward to bite Ray’s shoulder. Careful, even in a moment when he’d already been censoring himself, to exercise further restraint in leaving his mark on a patch of skin easily covered.__

Ray’s entire body had jerked, galvanized by Fraser’s bite. “Like that,” he’d gasped, and now Fraser bites Ray whenever he can. But not wherever; he always bites Ray in a discreet place.

Whether he’s in Ray’s bed or alone, Fraser tries hard never to think about why he’ll settle for this. If pressed, he would say it’s as much as he deserves. Certainly, it’s more than he’d ever expected. He might say that having Ray as two completely separate relationships: everyday daytime friend, occasional nighttime lover is better. Better for Ray, who’s not ready for more, and better for Fraser, who knows his own track record is less than perfect when it comes to love.

Because it is love, for Fraser. He knows it isn’t for Ray, but it’s what Ray has to offer. And, for all Fraser knows, it’s all _he _has to offer.__

Because at night, in Ray’s bedroom, where the words are of frantic desire and nothing more, is safe. And the next afternoon, Fraser always gets flowers (usually a pair of roses and some baby’s breath in an IBC bottle), delivered to the Consulate, from a florist Ray Vecchio never used.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'm cheesy like that, this was inspired by a Mary Chapin Carpenter song. Here's fun: if you correctly guess the song, I will write the "due South" pairing/prompt of your choice. I'm not offering this in a desperate bid to get people to leave comments (although you're welcome to do so, of course); if you'd prefer, please feel free to e-mail your guess/request to marionettesockATgmail.com. I reserve the right to fill a pairing/prompt even if the guess is incorrect. Be sure to let me know if you do or do not want credit on a filled prompt!


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